Ardent
by ForsakenKalika
Summary: With Voldemort vanquished at the Ministry, Hermione swore she would get answers about Dolohov's curse, even if it killed her. She probably should have considered a different turn of phrase. Dark!Creature!Hermione, EWE, non-compliant, and M-rated for a reason. Sporadic updates
1. Chapter 1

AU, obvi. I'm supposed to be working on something else, but this plunny kept humping my head.

Anyway, I'm changing a few things around, altering events, and basically fucking with canon, both books AND films. This first chapter is just glossing over some stuff, and introducing everything else, so if it seems tedious, you know why. Just laying the groundwork.

I'm not really sure what's going to be included in this, but I can tell you there will br graphic violence, gore, sexual situations, adult scenes, possible drug/alcohol use/abuse, and will include controversial themes, topics, or scenes where appropriate for the story. I'm not writing a Purge movie.

Any additional warnings will be included on a per chapter basis. If you choose to ignore this, well, your complaints will be ignored. You have clearly been told what you're getting into.

I own the plot. That's it.

Fan/Facecasts:

Hermione Granger / Emma Watson

Jeanette & Robert Granger / Hayley Atwell & Dennis Quaid

Jonathan Spencer (OC) / Charlie Plummer

Sanguini / Gerard Butler (think Dracula 2000)

Severus Snape / Adam Driver (as per my husband's request)

Draco Malfoy / David Balheim

Additional castings tba as chapters progress.

* * *

"The mistakes don't matter. It's what you do when you mess up that does."

\- Kim Harrison, Early to Death, Early to Rise

"Alone. Yes, that's the key word, the most awful word in the English tongue. Murder doesn't hold a candle to it and hell is only a poor synonym."

\- Stephen King, Salem's Lot

"Yet I saw crypts when I looked at him, and I heard the beat of kettledrums. I saw torchlit fields where I had never been, heard vague incantations, felt the heat of raging fires on my face. And they didn't come out of him, these visions. Rather I drew them out on my own." - Anne Rice, The Vampire Lestat

* * *

 _ **Summer, 1996, approximately one month after the DoM battle**_

"Hermione!" Jeanette Granger yelled distractedly, fumbling the handle of her purse on her wrist while she maneuvered her keys from the lock. Closing the front door with her hip, she toddled the groceries toward the kitchen. "Hermione Jean!" Her voice carried through the house more insistently as one of the bags had begun to tear a bit. "I need help with these -"

"Hey, mum! Sorry, let me help," her daughter replied, swooping down the stairs and catching the bottom of the dodgy bag before it could spill its contents. Hefting it a bit in her arms, the cans inside rolled and knocked against her sternum, and Hermione winced. She wiggled an arm free and held it out to her mother, smiling. "Have one more?"

"Are you sure, Hermione?" Jeanette's reply was the wiggling of her daughter's fingers, so she capitulated, handing another bag over where they stood in the kitchen entryway. She sighed to herself. That Headmaster had only told them few details of Hermione's injury, mainly concerned about her recovery. Oddly concerned, really. When Robert and Jeanette were finally able to bring their only child home to finish her recovery, she told them the full story.

With a mother's heart, Jeanette ached for Hermione's friends. Poor Harry, brought up by those god awful people only to be targeted because of a prophecy. She shared her daughter's skepticism for Divination, having heard all about the class experience when she had been Floo called by Minerva regarding Hermione's walk-out. To be in that young man's shoes, feeling like a slave to destiny carrying the world… it was no wonder Hermione had gone with him to the Ministry to take on and ultimately defeat the Dark wizard that targeted him.

Ronald Weasley had always stricken her as a bit of a hanger-on, riding Harry's coattails for recognition of his own. As Hermione's tales of the years previous went on, however, it had become apparent Ron was insecure and unsure how to make his own way. Being the youngest boy and, compared to his older brothers, fairly unremarkable, Jeanette was sure he felt adrift in the world. Robert had noted that the boy seemed to be quite the tactician, when Hermione had relayed the life-sized chess game. "He may be more dense than a rock, but the boy knows his strategy," he had remarked at the time, though he considered the redheaded boy a brute and a cad for his treatment of their daughter. Ronald's emotional immaturity had not done their tenuous friendship any favours in this war.

While she and Robert were not ecstatic learning exactly how dangerous these Death Eaters had been, they couldn't fault their child for standing for her beliefs and her friends as they had taught her. Not for the first time, Jeanette was grateful her daughter was a witch, able to protect herself with more than just her fists or a weapon. Every day, more people had been found dead or mentally bereft, soulless husks of the people they once were. Whole families were found maimed, neighborhoods experienced "gas leaks" or fell victim to "violent drug addicts". She now knew the stories, for the most part, were hogwash. They both did.

Initially, their reaction had been to panic. It had seemed logical to pull their daughter from the school when she had such an obscenely large target on her back, to sequester her home or go abroad, and just run, run, run away. They could fly to America or Australia, or stay with Jeanette's extended family in Greece, but Hermione wouldn't hear of it. She explained that those people, those Death Eaters, wouldn't just go away. They would run rampant through Britain, doing their master's bidding - that Voldemort fellow - even as his dust wafted away in the winds. Hermione had been clear that, as her parents, the Muggle parents of one of Harry Potter's best friend and partner-in-crime, they were also targets.

Their daughter had asked Dumbledore about some sort of protection for their house from what she called The Order. Robert had commented that it had sounded almost as ominous as these Death Eater characters, and had raised a very good question to the old wizard. One that Hermione had seconded with nary a thought.

If Harry, Ron, and Hermione, their families included, had been targeted by Dark wizards and witches since their First Year, why only now, before her Sixth, were Albus Dumbledore and his Order considering protection? And why only after Voldemort had been defeated? While, yes, the events Hermione had told them of in First Year were relatively tame compared to currently, the subsequent years showed a marked increase in the severity of the threat. Robert, during one of their late night talks before bed, had shared suspicions that the lack of concern was less than accidental. The Weasley homestead had protective magic, as did the new Headquarters, and Harry's muggle home was apparently protected by some sort of familial bond passed from his mother at the time of her death. He believed that Dumbledore was setting them up to either be murdered or captured to sway or control Hermione, who, as her tales progressed, admitted she had displeased and surprised the Headmaster by acting out of what he assumed her character to be.

Hermione had told them of the Sorting Hat's indecision, the troll, and her part in the three trials of First Year. Second Year had seen their daughter petrified by a semi-sentient reptile which had been housed, hidden, beneath the school. How anyone had been unaware was beyond her, but then, she had guessed magic could do interesting things. Transform a mouse into a goblet, hide a giant, evil Basilisk; different intentions, same magic.

The retelling of Third Year, in which Hermione filled in the obvious spaces between her heavily distilled missives home, had included the tale of Sirius Black, a prison escapee who had been wrongfully imprisoned without trial for the murders of none other than Harry's own parents. Apparently, their daughter was also slightly older than she was supposed to be, as she had been given use of something called a Time Turner in order to take as many classes as she had hoped. The use of the device had added roughly a month to her age, meaning she would be seventeen sooner than September. Robert's hand had tightened around hers when their child recounted the harrowing encounter with a werewolf. A werewolf who had also been their Defense Professor. Jeanette's head had spun as her blood pressure raised during the climax of the tale in which she had used the device she had been entrusted to not only save whatever a Buckbeak was, but also Mr. Black and themselves, The Novikov Self-Consistency Principle Jeanette remembered once hearing in a public lecture making more sense.

Fourth Year's tale had Robert using language typically only heard at docks and seedy pubs. Not only had they not been informed their daughter had nearly been killed at the World Quidditch Cup she had attended with her friends, they also had not been made aware that a student had been killed during an inter-school tournament. Jeanette had sent a silent prayer up for the Diggory boy and his family. Such a senseless act, all so Lord Wannabe-Caligula could be resurrected. And Harry, well, he had barely escaped the man-turned-thing only to be told he was delusional.

When they had finally gotten to this past school year, through the stories of masked figures and turbaned ne'er-do-wells, there had been a feeling of dread. They hadn't heard from her at all that year, and had tried to contact the school. Oddly, however, none of their communications had been received by their intended parties. Hermione had explained how her mail had been kept from her, that any of her attempts to write to them had been met with resistance and confiscation. The woman who had taken control, Umbridge, had tortured the children by making them write lines in their own blood and dosing them with a truth potion before illegally interrogating them. She had talked about their rebellion, Dumbledore's Army, and how they had met in secret to do practical work rather than theoretical, something with which Jeanette had agreed with. The prank George and Fred Weasley had pulled during their testing made both parents cheer, but it was what happened next which had cut that short.

Harry had been shown a vision by the evil creature who had used him to be resurrected. His Godfather, Sirius, had escaped from prison years before only to be captured once again and used as bait. What had galled Robert was that Hermione had known the man was bait, had known exactly what this Dark Lord was doing, and had still gone with her friends to the Ministry. Once there, she, a student, would do battle with fully grown men and women intent to kill her, and one almost would. The only thing which had saved her was the silencing spell she had cast at her attacker a split second beforehand.

At least now the Ministry had no choice but to confirm the return of the Dark Lord Voldemort just as they confirmed that three schoolchildren were responsible for sending him to rest. 'Still a stupid name,' Jeanette thought, returning back to the present to gaze upon her daughter placing the groceries in their cupboards. Stupid name or not and dead as he was, his followers who had scattered like cockroaches in a sudden burst of light had no issues with killing the families of Harry Potter's best friends if it meant leading the boy closer to his own demise, and that thought was what had kept Jeanette up at night.

"Anything else?" Jeanette jumped. Hermione stood, casting a curious glance at her mother and attempting to surreptitiously rub at her chest. When she noticed her mother's eagle eyed stare, she slowly dropped her hand to her side and grimaced.

"Still bothering you, luv?" Jeanette moved to the cupboard above the icebox and pulled the pot of salve the dour Potions Professor, Snape, had sent via elf days earlier. Handing it to her daughter, she leaned back against the island countertop. "They still have nothing?"

Hermione removed her tee-shirt, baring the camisole she wore beneath, and began rubbing the sweetly scented substance on the barely visible remnants of her injury. "No, unfortunately. Dolohov apparently has a penchant for inventing his own spells and curses, as well as modifying others thought lost in time. I'm guessing either this is new or-"

"Or you're the only one to have been hit and survived," Jeanette finished grimly. "Have Harry or Ron owled you? What about that woman with the hair? That Auror? You said the Black house was being used as the Headquarters, correct? Maybe they have a family library, like the Muggle elite had. Wizarding society seems very Victorian, so I'm assuming some other things might've carried over, aside from the fashion and lack of equal civil rights." She handed a snickering Hermione a small dish towel to wipe her hands, taking the pot of medicine from her and placing it back above the icebox.

Moments later, the two women were seated at the small breakfast table waiting for the electric kettle to warm. Rolling her mug around in her hands, Hermione finally spoke, "You're not safe, mum. You and dad." She sighed, tangling a hand through her hair. "No one has owled me, not even Dumbledore about the wards. I've read almost every book I have trying to come up with something, but all I've found is a basic Fidelis. I- I can't- mummy.. " The curly haired witch whimpered and scooted her chair closer to her mother, burying her head in Jeanette's bosom and sobbing gently. All she could do in return was run a hand down her daughter's back and coo, but inwardly, she felt just as terrified. "I don't want you to die…"

* * *

That evening, the three of them were sitting down for dinner when the chime rang for the door. "Wait," Hermione hissed to her father before he opened the door, drawing her wand and standing to the side out of sight. Robert looked through the peep hole and let out an audible sigh of relief.

"It's just Johnny from down the street, darling," he told Hermione, who shook her head and held her wand tightly in her fist.

"No, it's not. They went out of town on holiday three days ago, dad. Remember?" Alarm and suspicion alighted in his eyes at her reminder. Sharing a look, he silently asked her what to do as the chime rang again. She gently moved him out of the way of the door, into her former spot out of sight, and opened it herself. Plastering a smile on her face and holding her wand so it was hidden by the door jamb but still ready, she greeted the imposter as though unaware of their sham.

"Hey, John, how have you been?" She greeted enthusiastically, maybe a bit overly so she realized. As Not-Johnny nodded politely back and grinned slightly, rocking on his heels, Hermione paid close attention to his finer movements. Whomever this was had done a good job aping their neighbour. If she weren't so tense with everything going on, Hermione herself probably would have been fooled. The hair on her neck raised a bit, the primal response of a prey to the predator.

"Been good, Hermes. I didn't know you were in town finally! Can I come in for a visit?" Not-Johnny looked toward the interior from his vantage point, a flash of something in his eyes. His nostrils flared slightly in rapid succession, and she was reminded of a feline taking in gentle puffs of air to scent for something on which to pounce.

"Oh, balls," Hermione cursed lightly back with a shrug and frown. Fat chance he was coming inside. "Mum and dad have just left for their evening walk, and you know their rules." They had no such rules about visitors, and had never been ones to take evening walks, something which the real John would know. Unless Not-Johnny had been keeping vigil for longer than a few days, he wouldn't be privy to the information.

"Pfft!" the younger teen waved his hand in the air. "New rule? I know there have been a lot of weird things on lately, but it's just me." He stepped a bit closer into the weak light of the porch and Hermione noted the waxy, nearly bloodless pallor of his skin. "Your dad worried about his health again? They never take walks. He should think about one of those Stair Climbers me da's always using at home." He flicked his eyes to the side, almost as if he could see her father directly through the wall, and his nostrils flared again. His gaze moved almost as quickly back to her and he grinned at her as though he knew a secret.

Hermione was confused, running through scenarios in her head. Obviously, Not-Johnny knew his intel on the Grangers. Unless… she observed him again. His normally cornflower blue eyes were bright, nearly backlit, and set against his overly pale complexion, they were even more striking. "Johnny, are you okay?"

The boy in front of her seemed to shake with restrained laughter. "I'm better than I've ever been, Hermione. That's actually why I've popped in. An old mutual acquaintance sent me. So, I ask again, Hermione Granger, may I come in?" He grinned at her fully then, and she noticed his elongated canines.

Her eyes widened and her grip on the door tightened. Swallowing her fear, she was thankful her voice didn't crack when she replied. "I don't permit vampires into my home without knowing who their Sire is and whether or not they've recently fed, Jonathan Spencer." Her ears caught her father's shocked gasp beside her and she fought to not look at him.

"I had wondered," a deep voice intoned from the shadows of their hedgerow, "how cautious you would be allowing people into your home, Miss Granger. I am pleased you are being careful." A tall, gaunt man stepped forward, his travel cloak fluttering behind him with the motion. He looked less morose than the last time she had seen him, certainly less bored, but, as with the immortal undead, he hadn't changed a bit otherwise.

"Sanguini," she greeted with a nod. The elder vampire joined his fledgeling on the porch and nodded back.

"If I may, Miss Granger, I am able to speak for young Jonathan this evening, but I must ask that you allow us inside. It is most urgent and you have very little time left, even from my perspective." Even with his face expressionless, his tone had Hermione stepping aside and stowing her wand away.

"Yes, sir. Sanguini, Johnny, please, do come in." She closed the door behind them, and, began introductions. "This is my father, Robert Granger. Dad, this is Sanguini - I apologize for not knowing your surname, sir, if you prefer one used in introductions." He waved absently, dismissing politely her concern with an indulgent smile, as a father would a daughter. Sanguini nodded toward Robert, almost amused with the other man's timid behavior when faced with the unknown, and shook his hand.

"So, you - you're a - a -" the man stuttered nervously.

"A vampire, yes. You have a lovely home, Robert, if I may call you so informally," Sanguini's even tone washed over the room and everyone visibly relaxed. Robert nodded faintly, thanking him, significantly less panicked but still wide-eyed. "Relax, Robert, you have nothing to fear here."

'He's Compelling us.' The thought had flickered through Hermione's mind faster than one could flick a switch, but the Johnny still managed to catch her eye and wink playfully. Her eyes rolled and she gave him a small smile, nudging his arm slightly.

"Hello, there. I'm Jeanette Granger," her mother came from behind them in the kitchen, stepping forward and placing a hand out. Sanguini clasp it gently, bowing over it and pressing his lips lightly to her knuckles.

"I am Sanguini. It is an unexpected pleasure meeting both your husband and yourself this evening, Jeanette."

"Such an interesting name, Sanguini. From the Latin _sanguis_ , yes? Please, do sit," Jeanette had heard the previous goings on, had observed carefully the reaction her daughter had had to the lithe, oddly handsome vampire. Hermione had been familiar, yet formal, and Jeanette had remembered her mentioning one such vampire she had met briefly at a club dinner. Part of her had panicked, having not only had muggle vampire lore from cinema and books making her heart pound, but what she had read when Hermione, curious about the immortal beings, had furiously researched whatever she could from old books and scrolls. Another part, her cautious, rational side, gauged the situation, gleaning what she could from body language and what she could hear of the conversation from her place hidden by the kitchen entry.

Johnny had turned to look at her briefly, when Robert had begun stuttering, and nodded to her politely as he had for years when he would ride his bicycle lazily past on summer afternoons. Her eyes teared up, but she blinked them away then, and smiled back warmly to the young man - no, vampire. A moment later, she had felt wisps of a strange comfort, like wrapping a sun-soaked blanket around your shoulders after taking it off the line, and had realized the vampire with the low, dark ponytail was attempting to calm her husband, who seemed close to a panic attack. From the corner of her eye, she saw Hermione smile lightly at Johnny, bumping elbows like they always had as children when they'd goad each other.' If Hermione could retain normalcy and decorum in the face of this,' she had thought before stepping out from the kitchen. 'Then so can I.'

* * *

"Would you care for anything to drink? We've tea, coffee, water," Jeanette offered their guests, hearing the kettle she had set before their arrival scream. The question seemed awkward to everyone, and Johnny licked his lips nervously, clearing his throat.

"Tea would be lovely, please, Mrs. Granger," he replied quietly, politely. She was like a second mother to him, really, for how long they had been neighbours and his friendship with Hermione. One of his few friends, really, just as he knew he had been one of her only. As a child, he would often be found climbing the large tree between their two properties, Hermione on the ground with her hands on her hips and a frown. They were thick as thieves until she had gone off to boarding school.

Every summer, though, without fail, they would see each other and it was like nothing had changed. Until this one. Johnny couldn't help but feel he had disappointed the Grangers with his changed self. He could only hope he was wrong.

Jeanette smiled at him in response, and nodded just as she had always done. He ducked his head and caught Hermione's eye, then her hand as it darted out to clasp around his with a squeeze.

An unspoken agreement to be silent until drink were served took place. Robert cleared his throat and opened his mouth, catching the attention of the room, but Jeanette re-entered with the tea. There, on the tray, were a handful of bloodpops amidst the biscuits. With a bashful smile, Hermione mumbled something about personal research and reached to prepare her own tea.

The clinking of spoons added to the tension enough that Hermione's father jumped when Sanguini shifted in his periphery, spilling his tea a bit. "I put a few drops of the Calming Draught you had above the refrigerator into his cup before I came out," her mother whispered into Hermione's ear. Sanguini smirked and winked at the women when Robert had regained enough of his composure to sip from his cup shakily.

Certain the room had become comfortable enough, Sanguini decided to approach business. "I'm sure you have questions, Miss Granger, but I ask that you hold them for now. It was brought to my attention that you had been injured by an unknown curse at the end of this past school year, is this correct?" At her hesitant nod, he continued, "I am aware Master Snape is preparing your medication, but the exact curse is still as of yet unknown to the Healers assigned to your case. I believe I may be of some assistance in that regard." His long fingers tucked into the tailored suit jacket he wore, pulling a relatively thin leather bound book from within. Thin shoulders hunched inelegantly as he leaned over the small coffee table between them. The transformation from refined, ageless gentleman, to someone reminiscent of her father checking the league stats in the paper was almost comical with how abruptly it occured.

When he flipped his long ponytail back over his shoulder after it had fallen down obscuring his view in a silky midnight wave, Hermione nearly laughed out loud, hiding it behind a sip of tea. Finding his page, he flipped to book to face her, advising her not to touch it. "'Ardenti Inimicus'," she read, cringing as her chest began to throb.

Ardenti Inimicus didn't manifest as a purple flame, though it did engulf whomever it was cast upon in flames, immolating them from the inside out near instantaneously, leaving only ash behind. Perhaps that was why no one else had been found to have survived Dolohov's curse, because there was nothing left of them. If that was the case, however, then why was his spell purple? Could it have been a side effect of the silencing spell she had barely cast before he had shot it?

"That was my concern, as well, Miss Granger," the vampire before her stated, responding to her unspoken concerns. For the benefit of her parents, he continued, "As with most curses, this depends on the strength of the caster, both their intent and magical core. Your counterspell may have been strong enough to block most of the effects, but what remained was still strong enough to significantly harm you."

Hermione swallowed the lump in her throat, afraid of the connotations lain before her. 'You're a Gryffindor,' she told herself, though she felt more like a mouse than a lion.

"Even mice have teeth and claws, Miss Granger," Sanguini replied with a sympathetic glance in her direction. Her father next to him seemed to realize the vampire was reading her mind and proceeded to look between the two of them suspiciously.

'I'm dying, aren't I?' she asked quietly in the recesses of her mind. To see such regret cross the face of a being who had lived many lives through many centuries was dreadful, and all the answer Hermione needed. She nodded, dropping her gaze to the floor as she leaned forward to place her elbows on her knees, clasping her hands to her forehead.

"What are her options?" Jeanette asked from her side, now understanding the situation to be more serious. She had seen Hermione hide her pain when the mark on her chest would ache or something made contact. The Healers had already informed the Grangers that they had done all they could, but there was every chance she would die sooner than later. Even an approximate timeline was impossible, as the unknown curse ravaged their daughter's body internally, slowly burning its way through her muscles toward her heart. The only thing able to be done was to continually repair the damage with specialized potions and salves. Eventually, those would not be enough, and unless a counter-curse or cure could be found, Hermione would slowly burn to death. Whether it was this week or twenty years, it was inevitable.

"I believe, Jeanette, that we will need something a bit stronger than tea," was Sanguini's reply.


	2. Chapter 2

Relevant disclaimers, warnings, and notes in the first chapter.

Chapter 2

Poppy elbowed him, "Um, can we cross running water?"  
"Sure. And we can walk into people's homes without being invited, and roll in garlic if we don't mind losing friends. Anything else?"

\- L.J. Smith Night World Book 1: Secret Vampire

"I'm homesick, lovesick, panicked, waitin' on a promise,

On my one lucky turn, gonna turn me right around.

I had ahold of myself until the moment that I lost it,

Jonesin' for a game 'til the game finally takes me down.

Can't tell if I'm drunk, can't tell if I'm awake,

When all I want is the light of day.

No matter what the price I can't see any other way."

\- Convey "Speed Dial"

* * *

 **16 August, 1996**

Johnny sat next to her today. She could feel him beside her, his energy like holding Pop Rocks in your sweaty hand, a chaotic yet controlled crackling against her skin. Her mum had been by at some point, Hermione vaguely registered the scent of gardenias in the darkness.

" _What does dying feel like?" The quiet question floated through the air like a spectre. Johnny leaned back in the garden chair, unwilling croaks of wood and the rustle of fabric the only sounds while he contemplated Hermione's question in the twilight._

 _Though perpetually ageless and only barely younger than she when he was Turned, the wiry young man beside her looked nearly ancient before he answered. "For me? It felt a bit like what I imagine candy floss feels like in a sudden summer shower."_

 _Hermione scoffed, nudging his elbow where it was perched on the back of the bench. Holding up his hands, Johnny laughed._

" _I'm being serious, ducks. I literally felt every tumor shrinking into nothing, and then-" She could see the polarised sheen of his eyes in the low light as he turned to grasp her hands in his cold grip. "It hurt. I won't lie, but for just ten seconds of pain-"_

 _A despondent sob broke loose, erupting as a garbled noise in her throat. "Ten seconds?"_

" _I counted."_

"Try sixteen." Apparently she was using salt-encrusted razor blades as substitutes for words, judging by the sharp pain radiating from her throat. A sour tang built up on the back of her tongue without warning forcing her top half up and over the side rails of the hospital bed.

"I thought he told you not to eat anything starting the night before. Where in that did you hear 'seven layer tacos'?" Her abdomen gurgled loudly and Johnny's eyes widened. "Oh, shit."

Minutes later, her stomach was settled with the help of a potion and her Sire was up to speak with her. "Hello, Miss Granger." His drawl made her think of a candy advert, smooth caramel falling in gentle layers, surrounded by rich chocolate. It was curious to feel as affectionate as she did toward him already, her new blood recognizing his role in her life.

Concentrating, she let her magic feel him out, allowing it to expand gently outward. Hermione hadn't considered using her powers to do so before her- before, but the arrival of her mentor had her wanting to connect with him further.

"Not yet, Hermione." He brushed his long hair out of his eyes, the wet strands sticking to his face. Was it raining outside? It smelled like it, of worms and wet earth and funeral dirges. "Of course it is," her Sire replied, moving lithely next to her and taking a seat. Her eyelids drooped and he sighed. "You need something to drink, Hermione. Stay awake."

Strong fingers gripped around her shoulder and she registered the swooping sensation of sudden movement as her bed was fully reclined behind her without warning. A swift jerk and the bed was back beneath her and inclining. With a slight snort and a large inhale, Hermione forced her eyes open to meet Sanguini's amused face. His dark, full brows were raised, his forehead wrinkled, while his fathomless eyes stared down at her warmly.

"What would you like to drink?" Choosing to seat his lean form on her bed this time, Sanguini took her small hand in his. Her focus shifted, the feeling of his magic slowly channeling through their joined palms distracting her. He felt like the smell of her mother's potted beef and onions, or the slight cool breeze on an otherwise sweltering day. Like home and respite and all things - "Hermione."

With a rumble and a grimace at the taste of bile and days old cumin, she cleared her throat. "Sorry, uh, tea. Tea, please. That would be- that would be lovely. Thank you." Her rambling seemed to endear him further, a surge of affection bursting through her from his hand where it still held hers.

"Tea, then. Fiona!" The arrival of his house elf was not the loud popping Hermione was accustomed. Instead of sounding like an explosion inside a sound vacuum, this was the gentle hiss and strike of a matchstick. "Heard that, then?" Her Sire gave her a side eye before turning to fully address the elf before him. "Hermione would like a cup of tea, please, Fiona."

The elf bowed at it's waist, the burgundy linen of it's miniature uniform crinkling audible to her overly sensitive ears. Even from her position some ten feet away, Hermione could make out the texture of the threads, the crosshatching making her eyes feel like they were swirling in her skull. Fiona's bulbous eyes took in the girl on the bed with affection. "Would Miss being caring for any specific kind?" It took Hermione a moment to realize she was, in fact, being addressed.

"Oh, uh, Jasmine Silver, if you have it. Please, Fiona." Without another word, the elf bowed again and disappeared with that very same odd sound. If her nose delicately scented the air for a sulphurous scent, Sanguini said nothing. He simply gazed upon his new progeny with amusement while she cocked her head at the spot the elf had just vacated. Before she could continue her assessment, he made a noise in the back of his throat, forcing her attention back to him.

"Before Fiona comes back, you should eat something." He had noticed her already pale pallor becoming more so the longer she was awake after her Turning. Sanguini smiled, a slight raising of lips and a flash of teeth, leaning over her to reach the small icebox by her bed. A minute later, she was sipping warmed AB and feeling infinitely better, the auras of her Sire and Brother comforting Hermione while she came to terms with undeath.

* * *

 **12 August, 1997**

"Now, raise your wand and allow your magic to envelop the house while you chant," said a grave voice to her right. Together, they lifted their wands, swirling and swishing at times, as they chanted the words for the advanced form of blood-based Fidelus being refreshed on the Granger residence. Both were noticeably winded with the strength of the spellwork, though only one of them respired as such.

Turning to her companion, Hermione raised a hand to him, settling it on his arm with a gentle squeeze, holding her other out to him congenially. "Thank you for your assistance, Professor." Arching a dark brow and staring down his nose, Severus Snape assessed the young woman before him. Gone was the overbearingly showy intellectual, ready and willing to demonstrate to the world her aptitude. Instead of the eager chocolate brown orbs which had for the years he'd taught her sparkled with a yen for knowledge, he found the disconcertingly attentive eyes similar to that of a feline, shades of amber and gold constantly shifting among earthy rust red and coal black. Failure crept up his spine and, pushing it down along with his regrets, he placed his larger hand in hers, shaking it.

"Yes, well, certainly Albus will have words about this when I return," Severus stepped with Hermione through the wards and onto the Granger property proper, moving toward the well- lit house.

Hermione snorted, "He'll have full sentences, I'm sure. Maybe even a paragraph!" Severus spared the girl beside him a glance, not for the first time wondering how much she had worked out about their esteemed Headmaster. "Enough to know I don't like being manipulated and sent off to slaughter," her reply came. She glanced at him, amused. "Dumbledore may be tits at mind magic, but get him emotional enough and he projects."

"I look forward to not dealing with that little habit in class, Miss Granger. They certainly were less irritating this past year without your hand flailing in the air," he snarked, receiving a mischievous crinkle of her nose for his trouble when she let him in the front door. Severus rolled his eyes, eliciting a chuckle from the young woman, and proceeded to place his books and travel potions kit back into his black bag. "See if you can't rein in your more obnoxious of traits, as well."

"Oh, don't act like you didn't miss it, and call me Hermione, please. Formalities seem rather tedious given everything." 'Everything' meaning the War, he assumed. While his year had been spent teaching, helping hunt down rogue Death Eaters, and attending trials, she had been learning, training, away from her friends and unaware of the goings on.

"Indeed. Outside of Hogwarts, you may address me as Severus, in that case." The young woman before him nodded politely, an unnamed emotion crossing her face, and turned her attention to the sitting room where her Sire and mother were taking tea. The elder vampire glanced at his childe, setting his tea cup to the saucer at his knee and cocking his head. Sanguini's eyes never left Jeanette's exuberant face, but his attention was, obvious to Severus, on Hermione.

Severus observed the two from his place by the stairs as a quick conversation seemed to take place between the elder vampire and his student. He watched as Hermione's face cycled through her emotions, from grief and regret to embarrassment until, finally, hope and determination. Her chin moved forward with a stubborn click and curls bounced as she nodded once. 'Ah, a pep talk.'

She spun back to face him and smiled, returning to the front door to walk him past the wards they had just raised. "Thank you again, Professor. I'm sure you have other, er, engagements this evening, so I won't keep you. Do be safe, sir."

He cast one last look at his former student, empathy calling him to speak. "Severus, Hermione. My name is Severus." She lit up in a blinding grin, all elongated canines with her catlike eyes crinkling in the corners, and nodded emphatically. With no more words, he crossed the wards and disapparated.

Hermione's smile dropped like a bad habit and she sighed, shoulders visibly heaving with the force of her desolation. Sanguini did make a good point, she considered, thinking back to their mental discourse not ten minutes prior.

' _Severus,' she thought, pondering his reassurance. 'Like friends.' A part of her trembled sadly, knowing she didn't have too many of those these days._

 _-You're projecting.- Her Sire's accented voice uttered through her consciousness. Hermione turned her head to regard him from her vantage point in the entry hall._

' _I hadn't realized. I'm still having trouble keeping my centre with all the noise.' Her admission grated on her. She had always been aware of the constant stream of sound around her, even before her change._

 _Ron's voice echoed, "She's a nightmare, honestly."_

 _-Small words of small minds.- Easy for him to say. The red-headed third of the Golden Trio had once again recently been just as if not more vocal regarding his thoughts about Hermione. And her 'nightmare' status._

 _Her mentor snorted mentally, while he sat with her mother and discussed the effects of sugar derivatives on tooth enamel over tea. The image was something out of the Twilight Zone, she swore; Sanguini sat, saucer balanced upon one leather-clad knee, listening intently to her mother cite the key speaker from their latest orthodontic convention. His black hair was tousled still from his arrival, but after a glass of the red stuff over dinner and some pudding, his aura had calmed._

 _-Stop. Worrying.- Her Sire sighed and her aura tingled in a familial grasp. -Your other friends are planning something, are they not? Worry about that.-_

Shaking her fingers through her curls as if her resolve lay within the strands, she turned and trekked back to her parents' house. She would be leaving for Hogwarts soon, after all, and she was sure her energy would be needed to get through the feast. Thinking of the feast had her cursing her nerves and the light dinner she had earlier as a result.

The front door opened, startling her from her thoughts. Leaning against the jamb with a languid grace, her Maker held out an open thermos and wiggled it, sloshing it's contents slightly. Nostrils gently expanding and retracting, she tasted the wind. The shine of the metal thermos in the yellow porch light was hypnotizing, each _plunk_ of the blood inside telling her more about it.

Still warm, the viscosity putting it closely to body temperature. Fresh, clean, from the vague tang the vaccinations left in the air. Measles, Mumps, oh! Oh well, it's not like she could actually _get_ Chicken Pox. Male. Early-twenties? She guessed so based on the salt and cholesterol. Could be a fat kid. _God bless the fat kids._ She thought of a younger Neville and her canines lengthened while she desperately pushed the guilt away. _So, early-twenties._

Hermione reached for it, hands grasping air when he moved it away swiftly. "Aw- Sanguini! Wh-"

"Late-twenties, female, enjoys pilates, Thai takeaway, and Friday night karaoke at the pub down the lane from her best mate's flat. Go say goodnight to your parents, we have work to do."

Hermione shuffled past him in a sulk, eyeing the thermos longingly, but his gentle gripping and twisting of her head back to forward facing ruined her piteous attempt at puppy eyes.


	3. Chapter 3

Who has a Facebook account now? Tchyeah, buddy, I do. If you're interested in it, it's under my author name (ForsakenKalika). Pretty boring stuff, just mostly updates and random bits and snapshots into things I'm working on, reactions. I do interact, though, as I'm a stay-at-home mom.

Thanks for waiting patiently for this.

* * *

 _ **Ardent**_

Chapter 3

"The reason people use a crucifix against vampires is because vampires are allergic to bullshit."

-Richard Pryor

"I know you, I walked with you once upon a dream. I know you, the look in your eyes is so familiar a gleam."

-"Once Upon a Dream" Lana del Rey cover

"I've read _Flowers in the Attic_ and _The Other Side of Midnight_ and _Go Ask Alice_ and I don't want to read any more books where the girl dies in the end."

-Rebecca Godfrey, The Torn Skirt

* * *

 **September 1, 1997**

One thing could be said about Albus Dumbledore above all others; he was not at all what he seemed to be. Sanguini didn't like the man, a fact which Hermione absolutely relished. Today's arrival to Hogwarts would bring her no small amount of glee, she decided, as her Sire and Mentor was escorting her via the Headmaster's Office Floo to speak personally with the elder wizard.

Much to her consternation, though, her beloved _arsehole_ of a Mentor had neglected to tell her they were due early rather than the Feast that night with everyone else until, ohhhh, an hour before the meeting. Sanguini's ability to annoy the elderly Headmaster would hopefully make up for his, she was sure, intentional lack of communication.

"-doesn't have the decency to tell me when he's leaving- oh!"

As she exited the fireplace behind him busily sweeping soot and ash from her robes, she stopped short having nearly run head first into someone's side as they were, she supposed, leaving the office. The cloying scents of leather and musk wafted gently through her awareness, tangling with something more primitive, more animal. Raising her head and stepping back to identify her accidental victim, she internally groaned and fought the urge to let loose an impressive series of expletives. The blonde hair gave the person's identity away immediately. "Pardon me, Malfoy, if I may sneak by you."

He had gotten taller, she noted craning her neck up, watching him jump and spin to address her. "Granger," his voice was deeper, a pleasant, husky bass that caught her off guard when her stomach clenched. Blunted front teeth sunk into her lip lightly while she watched him carefully. Malfoy's flinty gaze dropped to follow the motion, petal pink tongue darting across his lower lip. If the heat pooling in her knickers was any indication, Hermione found herself to be shockingly receptive to his reaction. She inwardly cursed having eaten before arriving, her body's physiological reactions having shifted closer to a human's and thus betraying her queer and entirely new attraction to the git.

Flashing his eyes back to hers, his nostrils flared almost like he had scented her. Huh, his eyes had a bit of blue in them. A slow grin began to curl the corners of Malfoy's mouth, fine blond strands delicately tumbling over his forehead and shadowing those focused orbs, and he twitched with motion as though about to move closer. Hermione distantly recalled her old Sunday School teacher's descriptions of Lucifer. 'If I were a religious woman, I would-'

"Hermione," Sanguini's voice cut through the odd haze which had formed between her and the Slytherin, startling her visibly and interrupting her thoughts. Hermione brushed past Draco with a whispered apology taking care to keep from making too much physical contact, unsure if a bit curious of the consequences of doing so. She hurried over to her Sire to stand before Dumbledore's desk, dropping her chin down to her chest in embarrassment.

The elder vampire next to her eyed the young man his childe had had such a visceral reaction to over her mortified head. Tall, broad shouldered, and blond, he could only be a Malfoy. Sanguini narrowed his gaze when the Malfoy scion continued to stare at his childe flexing his fingers and licking his lips. Sensing the elder vampire's intent stare finally, the young man raised his eyes and Sanguini cocked his head in realization.

'I will not interfere,' he pushed the thought toward Malfoy, 'but you will do this properly.' The Malfoy's eyes widened, lips parted in question before he shook himself. With one last lingering look at the flushed girl, the blond nodded with the slightest motion, and turned to walk out of the office entirely.

Sanguini turned his attention back to Dumbledore who was twinkling at him from his chair a fair sight more intensely after having witnessed the scene. 'You will tell me what you know, old man,' he projected. Albus only twinkled harder in response, that damned affable smile rosying his cheeks. Sanguini rolled his eyes before placing a hand on Hermione's shoulder, her mortification rolling off her in tangible waves overshadowing the heat of attraction completely. "Hermione, you're a young woman now, and-"

Immediately, her hands flew to her face and she moaned. "Oh my Gawwwd! NO! _Why_ do you do this to me?"

"It's perfectly natural-" He began again, biting back a smile when she started shaking her head and protesting harder. From his chair, Dumbledore cleared his throat, stifling a chuckle. "If you're quite ready, shall we discuss your living arrangements?"

Both vampires immediately sobered up and focused on the headmaster, who cleared his throat again under the strength of their combined attention. "We shall discuss a fair bit more, I'm sure, sir," His charge replied with no small amount of ice in her tone.

'Including that young man,' he mentally addressed his childe, enjoying the small spots of color on her cheeks with a fatherly amusement before conjuring two chairs and getting down to business.

* * *

"Seventh Year!" Hermione grinned at Harry and Ginny, swiftly grabbing a dinner roll before the serving platter floated down the table toward Seamus. The other Gryffindor nodded his thanks back to her, his smile tightening with a choked pained yelp. The glare Seamus levelled at the young man across from him was disregarded, however, when Ronald Weasley simply sneered at her, ignoring Seamus' annoyance completely.

"He's being a git," Ginny noted next to her. Her own roll was pulled apart piece by piece absently, resignation lining her words even as she gazed at her brother. "Even mum has had it with him, and she was probably-"

"She fought me the most, yeah." Hermione nodded and turned her head away to stare at her plate. Even the elf-made roast wasn't enough to lift her spirits. "At least she accepted it, eventually. Your mum has always been a truly lovely woman and while she _is_ hardheaded and worries about everything, she is always supportive and tries to make the best. Ron is- he just- he just is." She raised her chin, sniffling once, and caught Harry's pensive eyes. "You're thinking something."

The green-eyed boy raised his hands in the air. "I'm just thinking that maybe you're hungry." As though to demonstrate, Harry speared his roast, swirling it around the au jus on his plate, and took an animated bite, chewing with enthusiastic movements and swallowing dramatically. Hermione's features pulled back into disbelief and not a small bit of annoyance while his girlfriend - goddess, light of his life, his reason for being - stared at him like he needed sectioning. Harry drooped under the scrutiny, hands flailing once in exasperation.

With a roll of her eyes and a laughing huff at his antics, Ginny turned to Hermione. "What I think Harry means to say is that you're all up and down right now. A moment ago, you were nearly a puddle of delight, then raging at Ron, and then…" The redhead trailed off meaningfully, giving Hermione a commiserating stare and a 'there you go' gesture of her raised palm. Her shoulders perked after a moment, and the younger Gryffindor began rummaging in her school bag.

"Here," she said, handing Hermione one of the Weasley twins' newest products. "I had almost forgotten about them, but it's a new flavor the boys want you to try out. Passionate Plum. You're looking a bit - er - run down."

One thing the end of the Dark Lord had an effect on was the magical population. Due to the actions some of his followers had taken, deals they had made, more half-blooded or newly created magical creatures were coming forward. What had started as a favor for Hermione - to take the original Blood Pops and make them more palatable - ended as a five thousand galleon a month profit. Blushing Blood Pops, designed to help vampires from merely thrall to full vamp simulate a natural flush for upwards of four hours between mealtimes and stave off cravings. Flavors had been Cheeky Cherry and Rosy Raspberry, but Fred and George were always looking for new flavors to serve their clientele and Hermione was their guinea pig.

Lycan Lollies were similar in that they contained hemoglobin in the hard candy pop. The differences lay in the gummy centre, which was a pulled marrow-based taffy flavored with coconut. Once a month, a sale was had in which the confections were sold a galleon per and came with a complimentary bag of their Better Be Brittle; a crunchy concoction of bite-sized peanut candy lightly dosed with a restorative potion, and coated in a white chocolate shell onto which one drop each of both a pain potion and a calming draught had been transferred via the individual packaging for each piece. They were a huge hit after each full moon, but even the non-afflicted crowd had gotten a taste for them, primarily among the elderly and overworked Ministry group, and the flock of new parents which occurred after every serious threat.

In addition to the amount of vampire, werewolves, harassed government employees, and exhausted parents, the populations of various veela, elves, goblins, and even the more elusive centaurs had increased, the very real threat Voldemort placed upon Wizarding society having had a ripple effect she was sure would be felt for years. New veela were beginning their journeys every other week. Regardless of how weak the blood was, the veela would manifest, in very rare cases before maturity, in a bid to continue the species. As with any creature, therein lay the primitive need to mate, to breed.

Oddly, elves had been just the same, with the exception that it was young elves going through their heat cycles much sooner than they naturally should have. Goblins had a much more gentle incline in their populus, traditions regarding bonding and conception closely mirroring that of the wizards they so hypocritically grumbled about.

Centaurs had the slowest rise, due to the dangers to both mother and foal in gestation and birth alike, but even just the Forbidden Forest herd alone had enjoyed two births that season already as opposed to the one or two yearly it was before Voldemort's rise and fall.

The werewolves, though, showed the most growth, as packs celebrated record births showing no signs of slowing as time passed, unlike the other species of magical creatures. With the amount of half-blooded and newly-made Lycans she could sense in the Hall alone, Hermione guessed Madam Pomfrey would have a supply of them handy each month. She wondered idly where transformations would be taking place. Dumbledore had said nothing of structural changes to Hogwarts that morning except that her own accommodations were "handled with the utmost care." Hermione allowed herself a snort of derision before popping the lolly in her mouth, the effects of the candy immediately helping to reduce some of the headache which had started to manifest from the sensory input around her.

Her eyes wandered around the Hall some more, her sharpened senses dulling with every swirl of the plum-flavoured sweet. Without thought, she caught the stare of another pair the next table over. Sipping from his goblet and looking at her like she was dessert, Malfoy smiled around the rim. Rolling the sweet again, she unthinkingly popped it out of her mouth and back in. The motion absolutely caught his attention, and once again, she felt his eyes zeroed in on her lips. Heat blossomed over her cheeks. Merlin, was her blush on a controlled switch?

Feeling like her head was in no way connected to her body, Hermione pulled the treat out again, slower, enjoying the way his eyes went flinty and dark.

Ginny, Gods bless her bold, ginger heart, nudged her with a shoulder breaking the odd tete-a-tete between she and the disarming blond Slytherin. The Feast seemed to be done, as the Firsties were filing out of the Hall behind their House Prefects. "Was it as good for you as it was for me?" The redhead rubbed an elbow against Hermione's side, grinning a mischievous little foxy grin. Ginny ribbed her again and nodded her head toward the door. "Show me where you were put up and tell me everything. For instance," she stood, linking arms with her friend when Hermione followed suit. "What was all that about?"

* * *

"Hecate's hellcats, could your room be any more offensive?" Ginny was even more irritated than Hermione herself was by the decor. The portrait at the door was nothing out of the ordinary for the old castle - a beautiful rendering of an early-20's Countess Bathory who, despite her violent history, was quite sweet. 'Must be how she lured her girls,' Hermione posed to herself. It made sense, she supposed. No one would come to Bathory's residence if she had told the townspeople, "Hey, I need your young women so I can drain them of their blood." But really, it _was_ a bit rude of Dumbledore to have placed a female vampire in a set of rooms, decorated as they were, protected by such a notorious if well respected figure even among her own species.

"Are those- euuuch, they are. Hermione, you have fanged skulls set into your hearth. Is the Headmaster mad at you or something?" Ginny cringed again finally noticing the satin finished ankh pattern in the otherwise matte burgundy walls. The whole sitting room screamed 1980's London Goth. Siouxie and the Banshees would have been right at home.

"Yeah, something like that," the brunette replied distractedly from the entrance of her bathroom. "He's not incredibly happy with me about a few things, but he knows if he does or says anything too obviously, Harry will notice. Fucking hell. Gin, come see this." Her friend joined her, sucking her teeth irritably when she took in the sight. Red veined black marble floors upon which rich cherry stained wood held an equally dark sink and tub. Her commode was even the same pitch colour of the floor, though thankfully without the blood-toned accents.

"I'm almost afraid to see your bedroom," Ginny intoned with audible dread. "I knew Dumbledore could be a bit petty, but if there is a ruddy casket in there, I'm complaining to the Governors."

There was a knock on the portrait frame, Hermione jumping in fright. Eris' elbow, she hated the stone walls' ability to deaden the sound within them. Or maybe that was just in the dorms and private chambers? In any case, she shook her head as she walked over to the door, it was damned annoying to be without one of her senses.

"Hey," she smiled warmly at Harry standing with his hands in his pockets where he leaned against the opposite wall, paused in mid-speech. His head was tilted back to rest on the hard surface, causing him to squint under his frames at her with a goofy smile. With a heave of his wiry shoulders, ger bespectacled friend was standing upright and shuffling in.

"Hey, Hermione. I was just telling the lovely Countess here how bloody lucky we are that you accepted." He scratched the back of his head with a grimace. "No pun intended, heh." The beautiful painted woman regarded her best friend with warm, amused eyes.

"Mr. Potter, if she is half as special as you so obviously believe, my kind are lucky to have her." Harry bowed to the woman with a grace he had learned from some unknown source over the summer. Hermione was generally against Reading her friends unless in dire circumstances, and this was not one. He would tell her in his own time. By his gentle smile, he was about to pull yet another new trick from his sleeve.

"Actually, my Lady, I have come upon the most interesting portrait while settling the Secondary Black Estate. They were, I believe, committed to the frame around the time your late husband - may he rest - commissioned yours, and there are concerns among the other portraits that, perhaps, they would be better suited to Hogwarts. I believe you are quite the scholar, are you not?" Hermione gaped at Harry, appealing to Elizabeth's intelligence and insatiable curiosity. A beat later, both were turning to Hermione.

"Yes, they can stay in the rooms." Hermione smiled at Elizabeth's excited steccato claps while she celebrated in her ornate frame. "In the sitting room, do you think? Perhaps nearest the bookshelves?"

Arrangements complete, the Blood Countess was wishing them a good night, and promising to keep a watchful eye while the portrait swung closed.

"The Three-" Hermione started to ask after a second of silence.

"Young Maidens, yeah." Harry smirked and stepped ahead to enter the room proper. "Good god, Hermione, this is…"

"Atrocious, mmhmm. I know." Her lips were pressed tightly closed, trying to contain hysterical giggles at his reactions and ramblings while he walked the room.

"Ankhs, what the shite…" He snorted, just catching the subtle decorations. He took in the rug in the seating area before the fireplace. "Black plush? Oh, god." A snicker escaped and then he took in the mantle. Fanged skulls ran up either side of the fireplace, topped with a charcoal grey stone slab which looked like it had been taken from a mausoleum. "You know what you need?" He snapped his fingers, turning to look at her seriously.

"What?" Hermione laughed out.

"Drippy candles and more velvet." She let out a howl of amusement, clamping a hand over her mouth just after with her face turning vaguely peach.

"I think I've got a few Cure LPs at Grimmauld, if you need them for ambiance. Or is that too upbeat? Type O Neg, maybe? Does Switchblade Symphony do vinyl? They're a happy bunch." Harry couldn't maintain his face after that because Hermione fairly well collapsed on the floor, snorted laughter around her hand.

"She's bollocks at doing her eyeliner, Love. Go for an Eye of Horus, and end up looking like a panda, this one would." Ginny greeted the cackling duo, moving from the bedroom door to Harry to kiss his smiling cheek. "Besides, any more 'ambiance,' she'll be expelled for stringing the Headmaster up by his mismatched socks."

That sobered Harry up immediately. "Wait, Dumbledore did this?" His eyes darkened thinking of the disrespectful nature of the room, and stalked to the bedroom to inspect it. "If there's a ruddy casket in here-" Ginny shook her head furiously in the negative when she and Hermione made eye contact. The young vampire's shoulders relaxed minutely.

"There's not!" called Harry from the adjoining room. "Just a normal bedroom… if you were a Slytherin." Ginny grimaced at Hermione's back as the petite witch rushed in to see. Surely enough, emerald green bed curtains framed a moderately sized four-poster bed, silver and black duvet with matching pillows adorning it. The walls were a lovely cream shade with painted vines running the length just below the molding. Her wardrobe was probably the least opulent piece in the room, matching the mahogany stained bed but simplistically designed with simple beveling on the double doors and drawers and antiqued metal knobs.

"Actually, I rather like it," she mused, tapping her lower lip as she took it in. Harry eyed her from the side with a grimace. "No, really. The green isn't necessarily my favourite shade, but it's close enough to not matter, and it isn't overly done. I doubt the Headmaster had anything to do with this room."

"Who, then?" Ginny wondered as she shuffled up between the two, wrapping her arm around her fiance's elbow.

"Likely Severus, or the Castle got tired of the Headmaster's meddling and pulled rank." Using her aura, Hermione let out a thin pulse, giving her two best friends and look of chagrin for the shivers up their spines. "I can feel that the Headmaster was here in the last day or so, but no one else. How lovely." She moved to the nearest wall and placed a hand upon it, giving thanks to the sentient magic for overriding what, she was sure, would have been insult upon injury.

"It's bloody creepy how you do that, Hermione, but I have to ask; have you done something to piss on Dumbledore's rainbow?" Hermione shrugged nonchalantly and ushered the two back into the common area. She found a gift basket had appeared on an end table, addressed to her from Minerva and Severus, a lovely wicker creation filled with treats and two bottles of spirits - one distinctly Scottish and one a Black Currant infused brandy.

"Between my Sire, Severus, and myself, I'm sure. He wasn't altogether pleased about going over his head the last few years regarding my parents, my - ahem - _life_ choices, and the training." Hermione explained, moving into the small, surprisingly stocked, kitchenette none of them had noticed tucked away in a corner to grab a few glasses and making up a cheese and meat plate for her friends.

"You know how he gets when things don't go as planned. That my Sire goes out of his way to tease and annoy him doesn't help." She said after sitting, plopping her bare feet up onto the low table central to the seating. "I do have to say, though, as morbid as this is, it's starting to grow on me."

And it was. Her eyes were normally sensitive to the light, and a normal dormitory would have been hellish for headaches. With the dark colours and gothic scheme, though, she wasn't experiencing anywhere near the sensory sensitivities she would have. Where the muted sounds of the hall outside irritated her, for instinctive reasons, Hermione also appreciated that she wouldn't be subjected to the pitter patter of feet here, nearly to the dungeons, that she would have been in a more trafficked area. The loo was still a bit much, but she was sure she could add a few things to cheer it up.

"So, what? You're happy with it?" Harry asked, popping a piece of smoked sausage into his mouth. Next to him, Ginny looked deep in thought while she sipped her brandy.

"Actually, that makes sense," her fiery friend chirped a moment later. "Hermione was crazy uncomfortable in the Hall earlier, not just because she was hungry, but because it was bright and loud. If you remember, Sanguini told us about how hard it was for even some older vampires to be in crowded spaces." She grinned a moment later, her lips stained a deep red from her drink. "Plus, imagine how Dumbledore would feel to know his little prank didn't work."

The friends all shared a hearty laugh at the idea and the topic dropped to move onward to other things. Ten minutes before curfew, the couple was hugging their friend goodnight and heading back to Gryffindor Tower. "Such good friends you have, my dear," commented the Countess, and Hermione agreed with a grateful smile for her good fortune.

With the click of the portrait door, Hermione turned back in to write her missives home. Her parents were sure to be waiting for her raven Strega's arrival, as was Sanguini. She just hoped the little hellbeast wasn't causing trouble in the owlery.


	4. Chapter 4

All first chapter warnings and disclaimers apply.

* * *

 **Armenia, December 1996**

Like proper villains, her assailants moved in the shadows around her while she stood in a barely lit side street pretending to rifle through her purse. Hermione's lip curled upward on one side in a cocky smirk. If the scuffles of their poorly hidden steps hadn't given them away, the scent of their unwashed flesh would have. Pert nose curled in mild revulsion, she sighed and pulled her wand from her bag, giving up the pretense.

" _It takes a lot of energy to use your abilities, especially at your age," Sanguini stated, flipping a hand as he faced her to show the pulsing gold-flecked mossy green which was her magical core, pulsing near her heart. "As you are a witch, the strain is easier on you, but you still need to preserve what you can. If you haven't fed recently, it will be even worse."_

" _Your senses are enhanced by your new life, and don't put so much strain on your core, but other abilities will. Some vampires are borne with elemental affinities, for example, and others with heightened mental abilities. Using these abilities - just testing for these abilities, sometimes, is a strenuous process, but you have an advantage."_

" _Your wand," lukewarm fingers encircled Hermione's wrist, raising her wandarm while his eyes kept her attentive gaze. "Your wand is a conduit to help focus your inherent ability. As a vampire and a witch, you will find some fluctuation in your relationship with your wand, and may even need to be fitted for a new one, but for the meantime, it will work as you learn to harness your nature." Dropping her wrist back to her side, her raven-haired sire turned and stepped over to the seemingly ancient bookshelf, tying his long hair back while his eyes sifted over rolled scrolls and weathered titles._

" _My nature? What sort, and why would I need a new wand?" Her hands twisted together at her stomach, her keen eyes giving his broad shoulders a worried stare as he ascended the wooden ladder to reach the higher shelving._

" _Second question first. Your wand, put simply, is accustomed to a less powerful you. Mind you, the difference as far as magical strength is negligible. You're no stronger magically than you would have naturally been at, say, fifty years old with consistent use." Several haphazardly placed journals were pushed aside, Sanguini pushing his head nearly fully into the deep shelving to peer at the books they had been blocking. His voice, as a result, was echoed slightly, which only added to Hermione's tension, when he stated, "The difference is in your range. As a witch, you were formally taught mainly Lighter magic on the spectrum. That isn't without reason, as your Ministry does have some say in the curriculum at Hogwarts and has knowingly limited the degree of magics you learn to only edge on Grey magic. As a vampire, you might find any natural abilities and inclinations to be a bit more… not so. Your current wand is likely to sense the change and not work accordingly. Think of a muggle circuit becoming overloaded in a house due to the fluctuations of electricity from a single light fixture; while initially, the difference in lode wouldn't necessarily be troublesome, eventually it would trip the breaker."_

 _She hated when her Sire used shit metaphors. It was better than the puns, though, she supposed._

" _And about my nature?" Hermione snapped out, crossing her arms over her chest to keep from tearing her cuticles to bits even more than she already had during her previous twiddling. Hermione was already aware vampires were seen as Dark creatures, despite their political neutrality, but she had no idea the Change would also affect her magic. She had to get a new wand? The space where her heart once beat hurt with the knowledge, her wand resonating back a soothing hum as if to comfort her, though its vibrations were already erratic with the alterations in her magical core. The moment was broken by a triumphant cry from her sire._

" _Muggles - ah, here it is," his long fingers grabbed a cracked binding, the creak of the thick cover eliciting a cringe from the notorious bookworm standing at the foot of the ladder. "Muggles have funny ideas about vampires, and being that you are a Muggleborn witch, you grew up hearing them. This will help dispel some of them while we work with your abilities and balance your core."_

 _Hermione looked down at the book in her hands, immediately taking in the cover and snapping an unimpressed glare back at the elder vampire. "Young Adult fiction is going to help me? Are you fucking -"_

" _I'm serious!" His pale hands raised, palms toward her in defense. Her shoulders relaxed a little and she turned the well-read paperback over to read the back. Sanguini smirked down at her and shoved his hands in his pockets, kicking back on his heels. "It's also really good."_

"Where did He even find you three?" She asked brashly, condescending. With a nonverbal flick, a Muffliato settled over the area alongside a strong Notice-Me-Not. No need for innocents to have confirmation of those night bumps. Her voice rang crisp in the quiet side alley as she continued. "Riddle must've been really desperate to grovel at _your_ gutter." She didn't even bother to adopt so much as the local Armenian lilt to conceal her identity. There was no worry that the men wouldn't understand her, they knew exactly what she was saying, who she was. They had been following her since the afternoon, the drizzle and dark clouds making the walk from her hotel to the pub possible. And now here. Little rats scurrying behind her flute. Pathetic.

"S'a fair sight better than the one you crawled out of, mudbitch." There. Her three o'clock. Another slight breeze came through at her back, pulling a hint of urine and blood. One behind her, leaving one likely somewhere to her left.

"Judging by the smell, doubtful," Hermione snarked back, wordlessly casting a strong Protego variant at her back as her rear opponent sent a deadly slicing hex at her. A second later and the thud of dead weight and something rolling resounded. Hermione looked down when the rolling stopped, squatting to pick up the head of an unfamiliar Snatcher. Her skin prickled as deadly intention filled the air, the nearest of her prey as his rage grew and the horror which had frozen him initially retreated.

She stood calmly, smiling almost wistfully down to the severed head in her hands, pretty hazel eyes relaxed in death. Her little palms mushed its cheeks, wiggling it from side to side before looking in the shadows at her right. "Not the brains of the operation, was he? Hey you, heads up!" With a quick kiss to its nose, she moved quickly, tossing the severed part to the side at her first would-be attacker and moving toward where she assumed the one who was the left pincer would be.

He wasn't there. Energy swirled in the air pricking her awareness. A thought occurred to her just before she knew to duck that, perhaps Sanguini had a point to sensory exhaustion thing. Already, her energy was flagging from her spell use. She needed to conserve what she could from here on out, and just use her physical strength as much as she was able. Hermione ducked low, sweeping her leg out as a large plank of wood shattered above her head against the stone wall showering chunks of wood and dust down upon her. "Hey! My hair!" She gasped, feeling him topple backward over her outstretched leg before pouncing on top of him to grip his neck in her claws. "Do you even know how hard it is to-"

A commotion moved her attention back to the man who had spoken only to see her Sire snapping his neck violently. 'Damn it,' she thought, knowing he would be smug for the entire trip home and hating that he deserved to be. Hermione gazed back down at the man in her grip with vaguely pleased docility. Anger lay in his clear blue gaze, anger and, when he saw the change in her eyes, fear.

A smile bloomed across her face, growing wider as she smelled the piss now soaking her prey's filthy jeans. Allowing herself one last moment to relish his fear, she couldn't resist the temptation to stoke it. Her free hand gripped his unwashed hair like a lover, and she laid more firmly atop him, allowing the slightness of her form to rest against his broader self. "Don't be scared," she cooed against his lips, coyly meeting his eyes, her sweet breath making the man beneath her tense and stifle an unwilling groan, terrified even as his cock twitched hopefully in his urine-drenched trousers. Hermione gripped his chin gently but surely, letting her tongue run over her lips as she scented the blood her nails had drawn from his neck. His eyes dropped to watch the movement, his clothed appendage tapping fully against her arse. Leaning over him with a mischievous smile, she offered him a light kiss, barely a slip of skin. "I'll be gentle."

His neck popped as his face was turned forcefully away from her, body jerking slightly with his death. The curly haired woman sighed where she sat on his chest, still as the dead man she straddled but for the irritated rhythmic tapping of her nails on her thigh. Movement in the corner of her vision caught her attention.

"Do you see my point now, childe?" Sanguini asked, extending a hand to help his headstrong charge stand. "You started well, your spellwork perfect if a bit strong, and you spotted your prey perfectly using sound and smell to locate them."

"And then the head." Sanguini looked over at his childe spelling her clothes and hands clean as they walked away.

"To be fair, childe, it _was_ quite humorous. While it's good to see your sense of humor is just as strong as your other senses, however, you should be more concerned about your stamina and the amount of energy you're using." She nodded back at him, unable to reply but for a determined light in her eyes.

"You really thought it was funny?" Hermione quietly asked after a moment, brow scrunched and slight smile playing across her lips.

Sanguini mentally rolled his eyes, grasping her elbow at the apparition point. Keeping his voice low, he met his companion's eye with a serious stare. "Don't get a big head."

"That. Was horrible," she replied with a snort, and then they were spinning back home.

 **1 September 1997**

"Lumos." The end of her wand lit almost blue, wavering only slightly in the darkness, strengthening to near direct sunlight and petering out to a pinprick while she concentrated. Finally, it evened out and she breathed unnecessarily.

"Why do you still do that?" a voice came from a dark edge of the owlery just beyond her light.

"Do what?" Hermione asked him far more calmly than she felt. Between having physically run into him that morning and the odd moment they had shared at dinner - to which she still had no explanation and had asked her sire about it in her letter home (' _You know something, I know you do. Don't think I didn't feel you speaking to him before he left Dumbledore's office earlier.'_ ) - the brunette was not wholly comfortable in the blond aristocrat's presence.

"Breathe." She stilled where she had held her arm out for Strega, who had been harassing a nest of doxies in a darkened rafter. Hermione didn't know how to explain to someone who didn't know what it felt like to die. Harry knew, he understood, as did Ginny to a degree from her experience as Tom Riddle's puppet. Malfoy waited, hands in his pockets, stepped forward, his blond hair reflecting her white-blue light.

She caught herself in the middle of a heaving sigh, and stopped, glaring at him while he raised a pointed luminescent brow at her. Her audible whoosh made her cheeks vaguely prickle as her skin continued to slowly pale. Annoyed, Hermione replied, "Habit."

Abruptly, she turned and clicked at Strega, getting the bird's attention where it was staring at their company, doxy legs twitching from the corner of her beak and head cocked curiously. "Strega, go straight to mum's after delivering this to Sanguini. She's promised to have dinner waiting." Her raven nodded, tapping her hand with its beak, and took off toward Sanguini's townhome.

Warmth overtook her back. "So it's true?" Draco's heady scent folded around her like a blanket, pushing her eyelids down halfway as she breathed it in. A warning tingled in the back of her mind.

Whirling in a wide arc around him, she ignored him and walked to the stairs. "What of it?" she tossed back over a shoulder as she began descending the stone steps. Fuck this. She didn't know what his sudden interest in her was, but if he was just going to use her creature status as even more ammunition, she was not having it.

"Just curious." Malfoy's voice rumbled in her ear halfway down the stairs causing her to jump and shy away a bit. How had he gotten so close so quickly? She didn't like this at all, but there was something in the low currents of his pitch compelling her to reign in her desire to flee. Hermione stopped mid-descent, shaking herself of the foreign feeling.

"What about you?" Again, his actions were eliciting more questions than answers, because he stopped when she had and was already smirking at her only inches away from her body, with one hand braced against the wall by her shoulder. How the fuck was he-

"That would be telling, Granger." The same energy surrounded her again, nearly pulling her toward the man towering over her. Her eyes traced the arm braced beside her, forearm to bicep, strong shoulder and up the strong chords of his neck muscles and finally to his jaw and lips.

"Good evening, Miss Granger, Mr. Malfoy." A voice came from the bottom of the steps. Hermione was unsettled to find she was grateful for Dumbledore's appearance, if only because his sheer magical aura was so distracting to have broken the atmosphere in the stairwell.

"Headmaster," Draco's annoyance was so apparent, it was almost a taste. Hermione winced, feeling the air around her sour. _I did not come back to school for this,_ she thought, glancing at his ticking jaw. _Fuck this_. Hermione slid down and to the side quickly, ducking beneath his arm and descending the stairs rapidly.

"Headmaster!" Hermione greeted the elderly wizard as she all but ran at him, rambling apologetically about owls home. With a quick look back at Draco's form hidden in the shadows of the stairs, the witch accepted Dumbledore's offer to escort her back to her room, placing a gentle arm through his elbow.

"Goodnight, Mr. Malfoy!" He called back to the blond just walking into view at the base if the staircase. Hermione looked back at him once more, and met his intense gaze. There was need, want, but what really kept her staring was the focus she saw, the determination. The idea that he could be so fixated, so driven just for her, that he desired her so profoundly, sent a ripple of arousal up and down her spine. She was a modern woman, as much as she hated that particular word set, but damn it! The way he looked at her invoked such a crash of primal 'otherness,' like she was instinctively reacting, drawn to her former bully so.

Hermione have admitted easily, and had (to Ginny, at least) that Malfoy was always attractive, a sort of fallen angel archetype which otherwise made her eyes roll. He was such a trope to her in the first place, but the bookish brunette was so described because of her love of literature; what had started with a project for her muggle classes on the social influence of Nineteenth Century literature, in particular the penny awful, had turned buying into a bodice-ripper per week. It wasn't that Draco Malfoy was the classic 'broody, wealthy bad boy' character which was so attractive, it was that he had no earthly idea.

He sent her a smirk, eyes glinting in the moonlight from a nearby window. ' _Or did he?'_

"-your rooms, my dear?" This time, it was like waking up from a nap when his aura distracted her again. They had stopped only steps away from where they had started - they had stopped? Why had they stopped walking? Before she could shoot anyone a confused look, however, Dumbledore was herding her off toward the staircases. "So? Your rooms?"

"What - Oh, nevermind, you'll tell me at some point," Hermione sighed and swept her free hand before them. "Shall we?"

"Surely," the Headmaster responded, glancing back at Draco from the corner of his eye where he leaned nonchalantly against the wall beside the stairwell, arms folded over his chest. He smiled and nodded at the young wizard, inwardly relieved to have received a short nod back. The witch on his arm relaxed noticeably when the Malfoy heir had retreated, his steps fading out into silence some halls away.

"Don't call me Shirley," she grinned wryly at Headmaster Dumbledore as they walked away.

"That _is_ a delightful play on words, even if I don't get the reference, Miss Granger." He chuckled, patting her arm. For the duration of their walk, Albus was content to listen to her talk about comedy _films_ and _actors_ and one Leslie Nielsen. They reached her door soon enough and she was greeting her portrait, who glared daggers at him.

"Countess Bathory," he greeted, bowing at the painted woman. Hermione stifled a snort as Elizabeth raised her nose with an audible sucking of her front teeth between her fangs. Dumbledore was versed enough in vampire etiquette to recognize this for the insult it was against him, as a living being.

"You will address me properly, Dumbledore," her rooms' guardian responded imperiously before exploding her anger upon the wizard, shooting a quick wink to the Gryffindor while Dumbledore dipped his nose toward the floor acquiescing. "I know all about how these rooms have been decorated -"

"Your Grace, if I may explain?" Albus interrupted. Hermione sat down, sliding down the wall, deciding a front row seat should actually involve being seated. She wanted to watch Dumbledore in action, see if he could at all explain his little 'practical joke,' as he had called it on their walk back. It would at least give her an idea of the true security of her rooms, whether or not the Countess could be manipulated.

She wished she had popcorn. Leaning back against the wall with an amused, satisfied grin, Hermione committed to memory the sight of Albus Dumbledore sublimating himself for enchanted ink and canvas, Draco Malfoy's odd behavior and her own response whirring in her thoughts.

* * *

A/N: Guh. Some **real life** shit happened. Sorry for the wait. Progress updates can be found on Facebook at my author page. Same with general shitposting.


End file.
